


Wicked and Divine

by Fudgyokra



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Sex, Blood and Injury, Dry Sex, Hate Sex, It's not really EXPLICIT per se, Jinkies, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Europa, but Joker gets kinda nasty...verbally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 21:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10671198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: Getting a taste of his worst enemy's blood was the final stepping stone in a long and turbulent history of them.





	Wicked and Divine

**Author's Note:**

> This is post-Europa, but it (mostly) makes sense in any Batman universe. Another blood-filled BatJokes PWP for you all.

Getting a taste of his worst enemy's blood was the final stepping stone in a long and turbulent history of them.

They stood in the Colosseum out in the open, hidden only by the shroud of Rome's deep blue sky. When his hands gripped the Joker's shoulders, the stars glittered in a manner suggestive of consequence. In their light, the Batman knew that he would cross that last step and spill over, past the boundary line that had always kept them apart.

"You taste delicious," Joker cooed, grinning ear-to-ear. His face was dripping with a mixture of his own and Bruce's blood, and when Bruce captured his mouth like a starved animal, he tasted the metallic tang of life. His own and Joker's, as one.

There weren't any words at first—how could there be? It was a brutal clash of elbows against dirt, a needy jerking of clothes and limbs until all that lie before him was an expanse of white: Joker's body, emaciated, pale. The remainder of what once was a man more properly described as thin, or maybe slender, but not this.

Bruce had spent time anticipating exactly how it would feel to run his hands over protruding ribs and hipbones, and now that he was here the world felt like a renaissance painting. Colors blended together into one night-colored background, and all he could see or think or feel was skin.

The dirt and blood did not help appearances, but after so many years, matters of beauty were not so important to him anymore. This was the only thing he could ever think to describe as beautiful, if he were being truly honest with himself. Beautiful and wretched. Wicked and divine.

"What did it for you?" Joker was saying in a low voice, shifting his weight backward like a wave and letting the cool night air ghost over his bare body. He shimmied his shoulders for a moment, then grinned up at Bruce. "Was it the blood?"

Bruce did not particularly want to indulge the Joker's sick sense of humor after everything he had done, but something about the absurdity of the situation forced him to smile. "Yours, maybe," he said, truthfully.

"It's like an awful metaphor," Joker agreed. He lolled his head back and drew a wavering breath when Bruce hooked his thumbs into the dip of his hipbones, pressing bruises into his pelvis without concern. The way he rolled his eyes back when Bruce's right hand moved to wrap around him said it all, but he wasn't afraid to voice his thoughts. "Do it, Bat. Use me 'til there's nothing left."

Bruce obliged.

It was almost surreal to exist inside his enemy, both in blood and in flesh. It was easy to ignore the reasoning behind his roughness, but hard to ignore the outcome; that is, the way Joker keened and rolled his hips like Bruce couldn't be rough enough was with great enthusiasm. "Come on," he goaded in his gravelly, heated voice, "make me bleed, Batsy. I've fucked _myself_ harder than this."

Bruce growled and dug his nails into Joker's shoulders, pulling him into the violent thrusts like a rag doll. And Joker, damn him, wrapped his spindly fingers around Bruce's wrists and sang like a bird, as if it were all perfect and picturesque.

"You get off on pain," Bruce said, not like a question, but like a fact he knew and was amused by. He slowed down and reveled in the way the other's ragged nails dug through the cloth of his gloves.

"I've had this dream before," Joker said, offering only a hum when Bruce snapped his hips forward again.

"How many times?"

"Lots." His voice was a purr now, and Bruce hated him for it. "I get off on the thought of you fucking me dry." When he licked his lips, Bruce couldn't hold back anymore.

"I hate you," he said meaningfully, grabbing a handful of Joker's hair and pulling hard.

"I hate you so goddamn much," Joker replied, like a confession. His arms wobbled and, finally, he collapsed onto his back, where Bruce utilized his center of gravity to drape the man's legs over his shoulders.

"You're sick," he told him, though it hardly containing any malice. There was too much exertion required.

With a wide grin, Joker said, "Not anymore, Batman." Bruce leaned forward until Joker's thighs were flush with his own chest. "Or don't you remember?" he asked, then broke out into a fit of laughter that Bruce saw fit to fix immediately. What came out after was like a lullaby: a loud, serious " _Fuck!_ "

"You know what I meant," he said, satisfied when Joker did not reply this time.

Past sickly white, Joker's face was lust-red, and his pupils were blown so wide they nearly eclipsed the brown around them. Bruce hated that he was looking, or that he cared at all.

As if catching wind of his train of thought, Joker reached up, curled one hand around the back of Bruce's neck, and offered a practiced, perfected, pornographic moan. Despite the burning need to express his disdain, Bruce's mouth would not work, so he let the rest of him speak for itself.

Finally, the preeminent cam-whore personality faded into something much more human, complete with clenched teeth and tears pricking at the corners of the man's eyes. Joker reached down to finish himself off, but Bruce clutched his arm and regarded him with a smirk.

"You sure know how to treat a lady right," Joker said in between pants. "Now hurry the hell up." He was mad at himself for allowing himself pleasure past the pain, Bruce could tell. It was something they had in common.

To spite him, he did quite the opposite of his request and straightened, and, to his credit, Joker did not falter before willingly pouring himself into Bruce's lap to take matters into his own hands. With violent want, he ground his hips downward, gripping at the back of Bruce's cowl. Their heaving chests, one clothed and one bare, were in constant contact now, something with which Joker seemed perfectly content. "Getting screwed by the Batman is supposed to be a goddamn treat, isn't it?" he huffed. "Why am I doing all the work now?"

"Because you deserve to," Bruce answered, his mouth seconds ahead of his brain and causing his words to slur.

"You deserve to be—" Whatever he'd been about to say was cut off by a shivery whine, a sound Bruce did not realize the man was capable of making. Intrigued, he held Joker's hips with bruising force and thrust upward, hitting something that turned him into a regular, mortal man like anyone else. It was like a work of art falling to pieces, and all Bruce could think was _divine, divine, divine._

"Fuck me," Joker snarled, splaying his hands across Bruce's chest until the latter obliged and dumped him onto his back again. "Fuck me like you mean it," he kept goading, fingers twitching against the logo on Bruce's chest. "Like you loathe me."

Past guttural moans and the smacking sounds of flesh on flesh, there was a crack of light across Bruce's vision, something he reveled in with a deep groan as he rocked above the other man in a temporary, bloody, dirty bliss. He finally stilled after a few seconds, regaining his regular sense of the world around them. On the ground, Joker was utilizing his hand until he, too, seemed to belong to another world.

With the mess now dripping across his costume, Bruce sat back and zipped up, disgusted with the stickiness and the situation in equal amounts.

Joker forced his wobbly legs to lift him. As he dressed, he hummed a tune that was far too merry for the night, but Bruce, unconcerned, let him. "When in Rome," he said at length. Bruce had seen it coming from a mile away but was grateful for the normalcy, regardless.

"Next time, Joker," he said, hoping his voice didn't sound as shaky as he felt it did, "you'll be lucky to walk."

"I'll be looking forward to it," Joker replied with a punctuating _harrumph_ sound. "Between now and then, though, we have a very long flight to board, and I have no interest in joining the mile-high club."

Bruce, despite himself, cracked another smile. "Heh. No, I don't suppose you would."

And, like that, in a moment of odd clarity, the world seemed a little less crazy.


End file.
